Long Prance Poems
Long Prance Poems. Below are the most popular long Prance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prance poems by poem length and keyword.
Don’t play with my heart
You mischievous boy
I know what you want
You just want a toy
Don’t try to be cute
Don’t try to be sweet
You just want to eat
A sugary treat
Then lick your fingers
And be on your way
Well, listen up boy
Hear now what I say
Yes, I am yummy
And yes, I am FINE
But, please, do beware
Before you do dine
If you have your meal
And then disappear
I’ll give you a kick
A box in the ear
I’ll maul you alright
Make you worse for wear
Fiercer than any
Deranged mama bear
You can fight, but dear
You don’t stand a chance
I’ll cut you down cold
And over you prance
Then lock you away
And swallow the key
Oh baby, don’t mess
Don’t you mess with me!
With all that you know
Do you want to touch?
I’m standing right here
You want me so much?
Right now I’ll be good
And purr and be coy
Because truth be told
You are MY toy boy!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Inspired by Becca :)
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a torn sun once wholly wise, the kind that sparkled whistling eyes
now a broken porcelain ,echoing screams from windows’ stain
booming through shattered rooms, waters of black -skinned moons
swish-swash slammed again, those gulps that cannot quite explain
why serenity obi-sashed in stenciled rite, as current raged into that night
of damp coal rimmed with mold, of hours drowning seismic cold
until each mouth a frozen ice, a scarred evening’s genocide
faltering without one chance, like rakes in dark shadow’s prance .
oh, rage that flung in past times, they murmured lantern chimes
in every road and churn, more fires ate the swelling burn
bones splintered from space; some offered vows, some said grace
now, thousands seek felicity, to slowly walk in dignified tenacity
hands pluck the soil, the rice fields; etching fresh name with gentle shields
as if to trace what’s left behind, on crepe stars a new hope they will find
the promise of a waking sun, to toil and build till weary nights are gone
and once more claim the gold of sky, until hearts’ wounds are mended dry.
*each line is a rhyme in itself
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Santa Claus, Babbo Natale, whatever you choose to call him these days, in the hearts of many he was never defamed.
Yes, he rides his sleigh on Christmas spirit, fueled by the Northern lights.
Nine special reindeer with 4 toes on each foot,
prance around at night with a glowing red nose full of soot.
He wears a white trimmed jacket of velvet and fur
and when he flies across the moon, it's like a blizzard, a big fat blur.
Chimney drops, present tucks, by the time he leaves,
there really isn't anything to sweep...
A glass of milk a cookie or two, then off to bed for a fortnight sleep
While there across the midnight sky, Santa gives a
ho ho ho and a wink on the sly
Yes, he rides his sleigh each Christmas Eve for all the hearts that wait,
while Christ is readying for His blessed birth,
he Santa, is always waiting at the gate.
Water’s wet, the yard’s not yet,
but I’ll bet the sprinkler’s set.
Right as rain, here goes again,
clouds containing deluge drains.
Car’s just clean, and man, I mean
they prance, preen, and soak the scene.
Wonder why weathermen weep?
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A short little form called the 'Alliterisen' - lots of variations, but the
rhyme pattern is aabbccd, and this one has 2 alliterations per line
and internal rhymes on a fixed length of 7 syllables. Frankly, I'm not sure
what I think about the 7th line after 3 couplets, but, whatever!
https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/alliterisen/
Tomorrows dress themselves in hopes and dreams.
But as we prance toward them, are we keeping our minds open?
Or are we dragging unbidden negativity along for the ride?
Hopefully we are bringing our feathered boa optimistic self
Too much luggage, too much strife? Now, wait a second.
Didn’t that make us more resilient? Teaching us to persevere?
Allowing us opportunities to use or wisdom and see our strength?
Was this luggage not helpful in revitalizing us to reach new heights?
Our existence thrives around potholes, car wrecks, and disappointments
Because they give us insight into how resilient and remarkable we are.
Tornadoes, floods and earthquakes add to the ambiance of our core self.
As we squelch our fear of such things, we grow more true and stronger.
Flirting with impossible fantasies of hope and optimism? Of course you are!
You have battled a giant and beast of something or another. We all have.
Perhaps you have conquered drugs, alcoholism, or an abusive partner.
Whatever you have conquered will aid in your ability to master tomorrow.
If I were a tree, I would be an oak. A laughing oak with dazzling shiny hair.
My leaves would twinkle and spin and prance happily in the summer.
I would watch over the squirrels with their chattering ways, and smile.
Loving the way they flip upside down and backwards to steal bird seed.
Robins, cardinals, wrens and meadow larks would alight on me.
Claws so gentle, I would barely feel them, but I would know they were there.
I'd not have to be the largest, but it would be nice to be one of the tallest.
Lovely to be one of the top three in a forest of oaks, surrounding a meadow.
In autumn I would let my leaves turn the happiest reds, oranges and yellows.
Always competitive, I would want them to turn before the other trees’ leaves.
I'd hold on to them the longest though, so leaf watchers could gaze in awe.
Cars would travel far into the country to see my beauty, and take photos.
In the winter I would be a tall foreboding soldier. Black brown against nature.
The ants, beetles, gnats and spiders would be hidden deep into my knothole.
I would shelter them from the elements and stand my ground, a guardian.
I would not make a big deal out of it, but I would be like a savior.
Along comes spring, my happiest time. I would sing a melody so sweet,
It would shame the birds. They would stop tweeting, to listen in awe.
It would outshine rainbows and buttercups. I would do this silently, on the sly.
When people wake for the day, I would be silent. Meeting their small expectations.
It I were a Tree
Written 2-3-2021
Contest Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Driving down the highway
In the pitch black dead of night
The hairs on the back of my neck
Indications, not all is right
A long meandering bend
In the distance reveals a glow
Has captured my curiosity
My driving runs to slow
I pull in to the kerbside
Beside a country church
I make my way towards the glow
In curiosity search
Up in the distance
I hear the sound of chanting
It has the feeling of evil
Dark, eerie and haunting
I reach a harvested clearing
Beside a tree I stand
The chanting is now a visual
Children in a circle stand
Standing in the middle
A figure is set ablaze
A wicker man type shape
As the fire with him plays
Once the chantings finished
The children start to dance
In hypnotic trancing fashion
They sing as they prance
Ring a ring of pumpkins
Theirs fire in his eyes
Us children of the fields
As we dance, the burning pumpkin cries
More and more they dance
As the flames climb his frame
The louder the children chant
Tells me, this is no game
As I slowly watch
The fire erupts through it's eyes
As if with a rush of oxygen
The last of all it's cries
When the fire deadens
The children turn and go
Every one a blond
Their eyes in yellow glow
Across the field they skip
Singing the same song
It's time for me to leave
For here I don't belong
Ring a ring of pumpkins
Theirs fire in his eyes
Us children of the fields
As we dance, the burning pumpkin cries
In nervous stealth like fashion
I head back to my car
My speed turns to fast
From that glow, I'll soon be far
The next day in the paper
And the headline on the news
In the town that I just drove through
A body in melted fuse
Every Halloween
A missing dispatch is sent
Am I the one who knows
How his last moments were spent
Every night for weeks
I cannot get to sleep
All I hear inside my head
Their words on me slowly creep
Ring a ring of pumpkins
Theirs fire in his eyes
Us children of the fields
As we dance, the burning pumpkin cries
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-7.php
the rolly chair chance,
the pole-y bear prance
the zanily, happily, dappily, underwear dance.
my muse laugh as she comes up with these lines.
Loving the colorfulness of the things that she finds.
The holy care rance.
The mole-y dare lance…..
She is lying on her back flat out, kicking her legs in the air.
Trixie, do you think you have gone a bit too far to the left?
the sole-y air mance.
The grow-ly mare ants.
She is laughing too hard to continue.
I wait for her to crash and burn.
The jole=y share pants.
The kole-y jare cants.
She is in hysterics now.
Done?
Doubtful.
It is 3:42 a.m.
She refuses to let me go back to sleep
Until I type this out.
Trixie out of all the muses in all the world…
the rolly chair chance,
the pole-y bear prance
the zanily, happily, dappily, underwear dance.
Our Tall Duckling (original title)
Our daughter, always through her childhood,
at least a head above any other girl in her class,
stands somewhere offstage now
with long lashes darkened by mascara
and with lips and cheeks painted pink.
She waits with other nervous pre-teens in her group
where I left them - acting silly and softly giggling
as many twelve-year-old girls grouped together are wont to do.
Adorable kindergarten-age girls are now on the stage,
tap-dancing out of sync to the tune of “Stray Cat Strut.”
As their music fades, they prance away, stage-left.
Our Angela, strikingly tall in her white sparkling tutu
and angelic as her name implies, sets foot on the stage
as if leading the flock of other lovely daughters
of other proud parents.
We collectively hold our breath - cameras ready -
as all the young girls converge in the center of the stage,
on ballerina tip-toes and with graceful, fluttering arms,
suddenly swans!
April 12, 2019 Inspired by Maureen McGreavy's Suddenly Swans Contest
Let us all do the quadruplet dance.
Shake. Wiggle. Wiggle. Shake.
Throw up those arms and legs.
Not at the same time obviously.
Dervish dancing, a lively prance.
Nodding your head.
Changing things rapidly up.
Quintuplet frenzy.
Shake. Wiggle. Shake. Wiggle. Shake.
You might win the cup
Mother of Multiples.
How lucky are you?
To get more than one baby.
Often more than two.
Sextuplet boogie.
You’re kidding me now.
Multiples are fun.
Come let me show you how.
A one and a two. Shake. Shake. Shake.
Quads, quints, triplets and twins.
Come dance with me.
But don’t step on my fins.